


Everybody Wants To Rule the World

by SneezeRogers



Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Eliza is a BAMF, F/F, F/M, George Washington is a badass dad, M/M, ham is a dork, lafayette/washington is more familial but eh, warnings for later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-12 18:20:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneezeRogers/pseuds/SneezeRogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an economic crash, America is submerged into a crippling poverty. Offering to pay off their debts and repair their economy for the price of monarchical rule, the Britannia Company takes over governing under their King; George the Third.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There's No Turning Back

**Author's Note:**

> what time is it?? FIC TIME FIC TIME YO  
> So after letting some close friends know about this crazy idea I came up with for a fic, they (i mean you, Morg) essentially bribed me to write this. I know some parts are vague, but BELIEVE ME-- it will all make sense eventually. Please comment your feedback or kudos if you liked it, and check out my other fics if you get the chance! Happy Reading!! -E

John let out a breath, leaning back in the chair provided in the room. “I appreciate you coming to see me… It.. It means a lot to my cause,” he said with a sigh, tucking the long braid beginning behind his ear back over his shoulder. He watched them; their squirming in the seat, the way that they seemed to practically _seep_ fear. Of course, he had an advantage; he had been trained to read people, to get in their head.

“Listen-- I can promise you that if you’re worried about someone finding out, you are only wasting your energy. Nobody will be able to reach you who attempts to hurt you for the heroism you’re about to display today,” he offered with a slight smile, looking down.

“Now if you’re ready, _please_ ; go ahead.”

\--

Run. _Be Fast_. Don’t let them see you. The phrases circulated through the boy’s head as he pushed his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie stuffed full of supplies. Others with the same intentions had told him this advice on the way over; the smugglers seeming to gravitate towards each other’s quiet complacence on the way to American Britannia. These were just innocent household items, he reminded himself. He had heard about the atrocities under the Britannia corporation in school, but he didn’t imagine that the guards would be too hard on him just wanting to get supplies to his cousins so that they had money for--

“Who’s there?” A voice boomed out in the night, two pairs of footsteps nearing the route the teenager was taking. He couldn’t understand the words, but he knew that tone couldn’t mean anything good. A flashlight beam passed over his frame, making him speed up a bit, only for the light to return and stay on him.

 “Hey!” The voice called out again, the two sets of footsteps beginning to run towards his own. _No. This couldn’t be happening_ \- maybe to people he heard about in the news, but not him.  

The boy started running, only to hit a wall as he looked back, knocking him and his concealed supplies to the pavement. 

“S-S’il vous plait! Je ne suis pas un criminel!” **(P-Please! I’m not a criminal!)** He exclaimed, holding up his hands as he scooted back away from the two guards looming over him.

“You know what the kid’s sayin?” One of the guards asked, glancing to the other as he reached down to pick up the box of rice that had slid from his jacket pocket. The other guard shook his head, squinting at the logo on the box.

“Hey.. Let me see that,” he asked, keeping an eye on the cowering teenager as he inspected the box. He made a noise of disapproval, a coy expression growing on his face. “Just what I thought, this kid’s a smuggler. Got anything else to turn in, ginger?” he asked, nudging the boy’s thigh with his white uniform boot.

Upon being nudged, the boy only drew in further, trying desperately to understand the guards’ words. “Je ne.. Je ne parle anglais,” **(I don’t.. I don’t speak english.)** he said, his voice wavering. There were tears in his eyes and fear in his stomach as the two guards continued to repeat whatever they had said before, their tone only growing more aggressive. 

“Speak English!” The guard exclaimed, taking out his gun and earning a babbling of ‘no, no, no’ from the teenager. He turned the weapon around, gripping the barrel so that he could strike the redheaded boy with the butt of his gun, sending him onto his hands and knees and prompting more supplies to fall from his hoodie.

“Jesus! How much do you have on you?” The guard said in surprise, the other one responding again with anger and striking the teenager once again.

“I said _speak english_ ,” the infuriated guard practically growled, reveling in the way the crimson spread, making his red hoodie only redder with his own blood. 

The boy touched his temple with shaky hands in mild shock of what had just happened to him. The reports weren’t lying-- these guards were _ruffians_. Next thing he knew, he was being shoved over by a boot in his side, hearing a sickening crack as his ribs hit the pavement, making him cry out, tears already shining on his cheeks.

While the more subdued of the two guards watched somewhat nervously, his gun poised and ready nonetheless, the other guard used the barrel of his gun to prod around at the lumpy fullness of the crumpled boy’s hoodie. He let out a breath, clicking his tongue and shaking his head.

“Technically, we’re s’posed to take fools like you in for interrogation, but we don’t need more smugglers like you here.” He said gruffly, raising the gun to aim at the shivering teenager’s face, his features contorted into shock. “God save the King,” the guard muttered and clicked the gun’s safety off. 

Hearing a distressed muffled noise, the guard spun around, seeing his counterpart being held by the mouth by a grimy looking civilian, the guard’s gun now in possession of the man.

“God save my _ass_ ,” he spat at the guard, clicking the gun out of safety and shooting three times at the guard. The guard in the man’s containment struggled against the hand over his mouth, yelling against the skin. Once he could see that the other officer was dead, or near death, the civilian let go of the other, aiming the gun at him. “Don’t say a word of this or I’ll tell the officials that you planned to kill a _boy_ ,” He said through gritted teeth. The man waved the gun, gesturing for the guard to get lost, earning a nod and a hurried guard running off. Once it was just him, the civilian went over to the crumpled teenager, holding his hands up in passiveness as he knelt down. “Do you need help?” he asked softly, realizing after a moment that the boy couldn’t understand him. 

The teenager looked up at his savior with wide eyes and a bloodied face, shaking noticeably. Once the man displayed an innocent seeming stance he swallowed, opening his mouth to speak. “Je ne parle anglais, m-monsieur,” **(I don’t speak english, sir.)** He stammered, a look of realization washing over the other man’s face.

The civilian let out a breath; _French_ . Thank God it was a language he knew. “J'mapelle George, je suis ici pour vous aider.” **(My name is George, I’m here to help you)**

\--

 _America_ . Alexander couldn’t keep the name off his lips after receiving the letter. From his diligent studies in Nevis, he would be offered a new life and education in _America_ \-- or, well, American Britannia; but America sounded better to Alexander. The Britannia company had been paying foreign students’ ways to the country in an effort to bring well-educated people to do the jobs provided for low pay until their studies are finished to boost the economy. The tan skinned boy took in a deep breath of the island air before letting it out with a sigh. He wouldn’t be coming back here for a _long_ time hopefully.

Alexander boarded the plane that was to take him to New York, his brochure still clenched tight in his hand. As he found his seat, the nineteen-year-old opened the crumpled paper for the billionth time that day. The brightly colored sunset over the bustling city gave him chills, and the inviting smiles of the uniformed guards made him sure that he would be safe here-- no more watching for thieves every time he tried to go to his classes or sleeping with his father’s knife; though he imagined he would still do that, but only out of habit. The plane ride passed quickly, the rush of flying being something Alexander had never expected to experience. Inside the plane was a lot like a house, or lounge-- albeit much nicer than anything the caribe boy had ever seen. Combined with the lulling whir of the engine and his lack of sleep from the night before, Alexander found himself asleep before long, waking up only once the plane had landed. 

Feeling his shoulder being shaken, Alexander’s eyes snapped open, mumbling sorrys and trying to get up, only to realize he was buckled in. Now sporting a blush, the boy hurried off the plane, giving a quick smile to the flight attendants and making his way through the airport once again. He was told that a man would be waiting for all of the foreign scholars from the Britannia company with a sign in hand, and more than likely some students as well. Keeping an eye out for this man, or a group of scholars, he walked through the airport, his interest piqued at almost everything he saw. Finally, he saw a fed-up looking official holding a printed sign at his side as a small group of students chatted idly around him.

Excitedly, Alexander walked up to the official who let out an exasperated breath, causing the boy’s face to fall a bit. 

“Are you A. Hamilton?” The man asked with some irritation present in his tone.

“Yes! Well, I prefer Alexander, or Alex but if you want to call me A, that’s okay! Is that a thing you do he--” Alex was cut off by the man turning away, holding the paper in the air.

“Anyone with the Britannia Scholars, follow me,” He announced, his booming voice sounding somehow tired and authoritative at the same time. Students bustled to follow after him, streaming around Alexander and leaving him a bit discouraged as he took long strides to catch up.

The walk out to the large bus that would be taking the students to their dorms (or what Alexander assumed would be their dorms) was short, and only made the group walk outside for a brief moment. The engine cranked up, a separate bus hauling all of their belongings as they set off for their new lives and educations in America. As the bus left the airport, the landscape revealed itsself to the students, all of them marveling at the reality of New York City.

  
Alexander was practically pressed to the window, his eyes wide as the tall buildings and wealthy looking people went by in a blur. Slowly, though, the scene changed; tall buildings giving into less impressive apartment complexes, and the apartments giving into the tent-cities littering what was once Central Park. With a frown, the caribe boy looked to see if the others were noticing, realizing that they were all having the same reaction. This wasn’t the America that any of them had been told about-- this wasn’t the land of the free. Interrupting his thoughts, a harsh static noise came through the speakers of the bus.

"Welcome, scholars, to American Britannia."


	2. We Will Find You Acting On Your Best Behavior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! I'll try to upload chapters as quickly as possible, but of course the more lengthy chapters will need more time. Don't forget to comment your feedback and leave a kudos if you liked it! Happy Reading!! -E
> 
> If you haven't caught on, any translation from french will directly follow what is being translated and will be bolded and in parenthesis.
> 
> (fide sed cui vide- trust but in whom take care)

Aaron Burr paced back and forth in the large hall of his father’s school, checking his watch. The bus of students was running irritably late, and he wasn’t exactly over the moon about it. Being left with no other choice, Aaron leaned back against a piling, taking out his phone and checking the recent happenings as he waited.

Furrowing his brow in slight concern, but definite interest, he clicked a link, the title telling of a deadly run in with a smuggler, two officers, and an unnamed civilian. Once the story loaded, he opened the picture taken by a surveillance camera  eliciting a smile that tugged at his features ever so slightly. Closing the app, Aaron quickly typed out a message, sending it before tucking his phone away once again.

\--

After making it through the slums of New York that covered a concerning amount of the city, the bus full of students pulled up to an impressive series of brick buildings, a crest on each one stating the Latin phrase  _ Fide sed cui vide _ . As the students filed off the bus, Alexander was entranced to say the least, his eyes wanting to take in more of this place than was humanly possible. They were assured by who he noted was another uniformed official that their belongings would be taken care of until they had time to pick them up as the group was led into a main hallway, stopping at the end where a sharp looking man stood. The man-- or boy, Alexander wasn’t sure of how old he was exactly, wore a simple button down shirt, his maroon blazer making his dark skin look almost literally radiant.

“If I could have your attention please?” The man asked giving the group a half smile as he rubbed his hands together nervously. “Thank you. My name is Aaron Burr, and I would like to formally welcome you to King’s College.” As Aaron spoke, he cringed internally; every time he made this speech he wanted to storm right into that office and-- oh, it was time for him to speak again.

“As you can see, American Britannia needs scholars like us to become the best at what we do so that we can work to end this economic crisis.” Aaron put on a smile, but it was only for show.  _ American Britannia _ , he thought, was the single worst idea of the century. “Anyways, to show you around campus, we have assigned each of you to a current student that will help you with anything you need. If you have any questions before I continue to let everyone know who will be helping who, please ask them now,” he said, his caramel eyes scanning the crowd.

As if on instinct, Alexander’s hand shot up.

Aaron’s eyes scanned over the crowd, seeing only one arm in the air, not able to see the rest of the person. “Yes-- you on the right?” He offered, trying to see who this kid was.

Alexander lowered his hand, trying to see the speaker better. “When do classes start?” He asked in complete seriousness.

A bubble of laughter came from the small crowd, Aaron’s own face breaking into a bit of a grin.

“Three days; so you have time to move into your dorms and get to know the campus. But I’m glad you’re so excited,” He said with a slight laugh. “Okay then-- as I read out your name and your mentor’s name, they’ll raise their hand so you can go to them.”

As Aaron began reading down the list, Alexander’s cheeks burned red with embarrassment, only wanting to make sure he wasn’t missing anything when he asked his question. Finally, he reached the last names that started with H’s, Alexander’s being the first. Upon his name being called, it was followed by his mentor’s-- someone named John Laurens. From the same side of the room, a hand was raised, waving it so that he could find his way over to this John guy.

Walking over to where the hand had been raised when his name was announced, Alexander found a short boy, even though he was only a few inches shorter than Alexander himself. He gave John a slight smile, adjusting the bag slung over his shoulder as he took in his appearance. John seemed to be dressed just as nicely as the speaker, his olive toned skin adorned with constellations of freckles across his cheeks and arms as well as the small bit of collar bone that poked out from his buttoned shirt, a vest in the same shade of maroon as Aaron’s over it. His hair hung in an expertly styled halo of curls around his face as he led Alexander out to a less crowded courtyard area, the new lighting making his eyes the color of the small green butterflies back on Nevis.

“So you’re Alexander, then? I’m John Laurens,” He said, pulling Alexander out of his daze of admiration.

“Yeah! But you can just call me Alex, unless you don’t want to,” he said with a slight shrug, but smiling nonetheless.

A smile grew on John’s face, slinging an arm around Alexander to pull him into a half hug. “Welcome to King’s,  _ Alex _ .”

\--

George looked down at the boy, realizing why the guards had him cornered in the first place; his concealed supplies not being quite as concealed as they should have been in order to get away with smuggling, not to mention the fact that a  _ red  _ sweatshirt didn’t exactly do much to help him blend in.

“Avez-vous un endroit pour rester?”  **(Do you have somewhere to stay?)** George asked, kneeling by the teenager in the damp alley.

The boy looked down, nodding slightly. “Oui.. mais dans la ville de tentes..”  **(Yes.. But in the tent city..)** He said dishearteningly.

George sighed, grabbing his shoulder gently. He couldn’t let this boy stay there-- he didn’t even know if he could get back now that the guards knew who he was.  “Restez avec moi? Je avoir un appartement d’environ un pate de maisons-- mais vous ne pas avoir a si vous ne voulez pas.”  **(Stay with me? I have an apartment about a block away-- but you don’t have to if you don’t want to.)**

The boy looked up, hesitating a moment before nodding, letting the stranger who had introduced himself as George help him up. Murmuring a soft ‘merci’, the two were on their way, George supporting the injured and shaken up french boy with an arm around his lower back. The height difference between them helped, George being taller by a good five inches. The two walked down the near-empty street, stopping at a run-down apartment complex only minutes from the alley that they had just come from.

Once inside, George turned on the lights, shutting the door and letting go of the teenager only to pull out a large blanket from a closet, throwing it onto the couch.

The boy watched as he tossed the thick blanket onto the couch, instinctively moving to grab it. “Je vous remercie de me laisser rester ici,”  **(Thank you for letting me stay here)** he said, managing a small smile.

George looked over from where he had gone to in the kitchen to look for his first aid kit, noticing how the boy had seated himself on the couch with the blanket, letting out a small laugh.  “Vous savez que vous ne dormez pas la-- je prends le canape, vous pouvez avoir le lit. J’insiste,”  **(You know you aren’t sleeping there-- I’m taking the couch, you can have the bed. I insist.)** he said, bringing the found first aid kit over to where the boy was sitting. “Je ne pris votre nom,”  **(I never caught your name)** he said as he sat down, opening the first aid kit to attempt to patch up some of his wounds.

The teenager froze, never having been offered such hospitality by such a stranger before. he wasn’t given much time to argue, but was grateful for that, knowing he would sleep much better in an actual bed. He watched the man open the first aid kit, unsure of what exactly he was supposed to be doing. “Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette,” he said, earning a mildly confused look from the man, to which he let out a small laugh. “ _ Lafayette _ ,” he said simply, a name that he had been called by close friends back home.

George nodded giving Lafayette a small smile. “Je vois. Ca vous derange si je prends un coup d’oeil a vos blessures? Je ne suis pas medecin, mais ca va aider certains,”  **(I see. Do you mind if I take a look at your wounds? I’m no doctor, but it’ll help some.)** he asked carefully, not wanting to make the boy uncomfortable.

Lafayette nodded silently, pulling his hair back carefully so access to the gash on his temple wasn’t obstructed. He kept his eyes down as George worked, only wincing once when he went to clean the wound, the blood having already began to clot against his skin. The boy sat still until he was finished, both wounds on his face now cleaned and covered with a butterfly bandage to hold them shut.

After hesitating for a moment, Lafayette slowly pulled off his sweatshirt, cans and boxes of supplies falling out onto the couch. George watched in silence, the bloodstained sweatshirt being peeled away to reveal a loose gray t-shirt hanging over the boy’s lean frame.

“Ceux-ci sont pour mes cousins, mais vous pouvez avoir un peu ainsi,”  **(These are for my cousins, but you can have some as well)** Lafayette said softly, folding the stained sweatshirt in his lap.

George smiled gently, looking over at the teenager and wrapping an arm around his shoulders; a gesture that made the boy tense for a brief moment. “ _ Merci.  _ La salle de bains est dans le couloir, mais je vais vous laisser aller a coucher. Vous devez etre epuise,”  **(Thank you. The bathroom is down the hall, but I’ll let you go on to bed. You must be exhausted.)** He said, standing and taking the first aid kit with him.

Lafayette could only nod in agreement, leaving the supplies where they were and standing. Hesitating briefly, he looked to where George was and fiddled nervously with the hoodie in his hands. “Bonne nuit.. Monsieur,” He said softly before heading back to the bedroom.

\--

“So what’s th’ deal with the tents an’ stuff?” Alexander slurred, leaning back on the side of his new bed, the dorm room containing two in total; one for him, and one for John. John’s bed was already made, the freckled boy leaning against it and gripping the glass bottle he had produced with the explanation of it being a sort of initiation.

John groaned, rolling his eyes at the question. From the foot of his bed came a snicker, one of John’s other close friends, Hercules having joined the fun as well. “Alright, Alex--” He started, sitting up a bit more and beginning to talk with his hands. “So basically, our economy is  _ shit _ . Any money you have from Nevis isn’t worth two rats asses here. The government system is a capitalist’s wet-dream, and they  _ literally _ make you buy their products! Fascism and inflation together sounds like something out of a history book. Seriously,” He said, using the bottle to point at Alexander before taking a long sip.

“Johnny-boy’s pretty passionate about this stuff b’cause ‘f his dad,” Hercules explained, giving Alexander a small shrug.

Alex frowned, mulling over the situation in his head. “How’s this stuff even  _ legal _ ?” He slurred, rubbing his temples and shaking his head. Alexander slid down a bit so he was mostly laid across the floor, frowning with a bottle rested on his chest.

John laughed at that, leaning forwards to squeeze the boy’s knee. “It’s absolutely not-- or at least it wouldn’t be according to our last governing system,” He said with a sigh. “I just wish we could  _ do _ somethin’ about it, y’know? We can’t just stand by and watch this shit happen.”

Alexander and Hercules nodded in agreement, the caribe boy sitting up and twisting off the cap of his large bottle, putting the upside down cap on his head. “Oh I’m King  _ Geooorge _ ! Buy my things and study at my college oo-hoo!” He said with a comical expression, standing up a bit clumsily and pulling a jacket off of john’s desk chair to tie around his neck. “To American Britannia and King’s College; the worst idea of our day, and the worst hangover for the first day!” He proclaimed, tilting back his bottle for a long sip before hearing a sharp knock on the door.

\--

After Lafayette had gone to sleep, George took it upon himself to organize his smuggled supplies on the small table in his living room, not bothering to set anything aside for himself just yet. After placing the cans and boxes in neat sections, he slipped back into his own bedroom, finding that the boy had already fallen asleep. His red sweatshirt lay folded at the foot of the bed, easy for George’s taking before slipping out just as silently as he had entered.

Tossing in a considerable amount of detergent as well as the blood-stained hoodie, George turned the shabby washer on, yawning before walking back into the small living room of his apartment. He readjusted the couch’s pillows and spread out the blanket before letting out a breath. He carefully pulled out the official’s gun that he had taken after the encounter, sliding it under his couch just in case. As if reading his mind, a quiet knock interrupted the silence of his apartment, making him stand and cross the room with some hesitation.


	3. Turn Your Back On Mother Nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! I'm hoping to be able to update at least once a week now that the fic is out of its introduction portion and getting more into the actual plot!
> 
> In addition to this, check out my etsy shop, I sell Alexander Hamilton (along with pretty much any other historical figure) Portrait Pendants, and soon I'll be adding rings with portraits of the members of the Culper Spy Ring (get it??) to my shop! 
> 
> https://www.etsy.com/listing/260842067/hamilton-portrait-pendant
> 
> Happy Reading! -E

Aaron Burr let out a breath, sinking into the plush leather chair of his father’s office as he glanced out the window, rain tapping against the glass. He had only just then closed out of his email, reading the agenda sent from his father to make sure got done on his leave when a knock rang out on the door, startling him a bit. 

“Mister Burr? We have a student who has been acting less than satisfactory,” The guard said through the polished wood door. 

“Let them in then! If I’m supposed to act as dean of students with my father’s leave, I can’t do it through a bloody  _ door _ !” He exclaimed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

As the guard ushered in the student Aaron recognized to be one of the transfer students, he waved his hand dismissively towards the guards.

“Thank you, but I’ll let him explain what was apparently so offensive that you need bring him here on my own time,” He said snidely to the guards, earning a nod as the door shut once again. 

Left alone with the transfer student, Aaron allowed himself to sigh. “Sorry, I just get so annoyed by the guards. This isn’t  _ their _ college and-- sorry, I’m getting sidetracked. You can sit down, I don’t bite,” He said with a slight smile as the boy sat. “What was your name again? You were the one who asked a question on that first day, weren’t you?” He asked with a slightly furrowed brow.

“Alexander Hamilt’n-- Yes, I asked when class’s started,” the dark haired boy said as he sat down in the seat across from Burr, his words slightly slurred.

The corner of Aaron’s mouth twitched up in a smile as he noticed that Alexander had to have been drinking before this. “Well, you’re certainly trying to make a name for yourself, aren’t you?” He asked in amusement.

Before any normal sober human could have responded, Alexander’s sly response was already halfway out of his mouth. “You did-- graduating in two years isn’t something everyone does.” Seemingly having lost his filter, the caribe boy sat slouched in the chair with a coy expression.

Aaron was taken aback to say the least. He tried to form an appropriate response finding himself speechless. Instead, he sat up a bit more, leaning forwards with his elbows on the large desk. “What did you do, Alex?” He asked slowly, searching the boy’s face for some kind of tell.

With some hesitation, Alexander met Aaron’s eyes and shrugged. “I just said what I thought. This governing system is a load of shit. The system set before this would have never allowed this,” He said, holding eye contact and knowing very well that he could get sent home before even attending one class for this. 

Aaron furrowed his brow in interest, leaning back and then getting up altogether from his chair. Walking around the desk, he leaned against the front of the dark brown surface, his weight distributed on the heels of his hands. “Alexander, do you know how dangerous what you just said is to your safety?” He asked, looking down at the dark haired boy.

With a slow nod, Alexander looked up to the man looming above him. “I… Yes. I do.” He said, waiting for his punishment with baited breath.

Aaron Burr nodded as well, looking back out the window. “Then you understand how dangerous it is for someone in a position of authority it is to hold the same opinion,” He said, his nerves causing him to grip the desk a bit tighter. If the guards were to hear their conversation, they would both be sent to prison if not hanged for their beliefs. “Alexander, I need a favor from you. There’s someone I need you to deliver a letter to, but not before you  _ swear _ that this conversation doesn’t leave us,” Aaron said, his caramel eyes suddenly flicking back to pierce into Alexander’s. 

The dark haired boy’s interest peaked at Burr’s proposition, the adrenaline causing him to sober up enough to process what was happening. He was being recruited for something much bigger than the two of them. “I-- yes, I could do that; and you don’t have to worry about me turning you in. I swear,” He said pointedly. With his words, Alexander stood, almost reaching the height of the other man.

“Alexander; you better know that this isn’t something you can go back on-- once you’re in, you’re in,” Burr warned, placing a steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

Alexander promptly shook his torso free from Aaron’s grip, nodding. “Give me the letter.”

\--

Alexander pulled the thin raincoat around his figure, trudging out of the campus and trying to ignore the murmurs from the guards, all somehow knowing that this was part of Burr’s ‘punishment’. The thick letter rested heavily against his side in the waistband of his pants, making him constantly aware of what he was doing. Aaron’s words ran through his head again, trying to commit the directions given to him to memory. 

After taking the route that didn’t make him walk through the impoverished area of the city covered in tents, he found the quaint apartment complex he had been told about. Walking cautiously up to the door labeled 126, Alexander shook off his rain coat and rapped his knuckles against the door. 

A brief moment passed, the rain dripping on Alexander from the overhang of the apartment complex as he waited. The door unlocked, opening to reveal a tall man, looking down at him with suspicious eyes. 

“Who are you?” The man asked quietly, glancing over his shoulder into the apartment after he spoke. 

“I’m Alexander Hamilton-- Are you Washington?” He asked, remembering the name that Aaron had told him. The man’s face changed only a fraction at the mention of what Alexander presumed to be his name, nodding a bit, but keeping eye contact with the shorter of the two.

“What do you need?” Washington asked, keeping his guard up in case the man was someone working for the Britannia Company. With Lafayette asleep in his bedroom, it would be difficult to get away with much at the moment. 

“I’m-- I was told to give you this.” Alexander fumbled under his coat to pull out the now damp letter, handing it to the man. He took it hesitantly, eyeing Alexander before using his thumb to open it. 

George’s eyes scanned the lines quickly, his anxiety levels lowering as he realized they were on the same side. Unfortunately, as the letter progressed, a pit formed in his stomach, the reality of what this man was asking hitting him. “Do you know what this letter is about?” He asked, motioning towards Alexander with the open envelope.

Alex nodded, his eyes falling to the letter in his hand. “Yeah, I know the just of it,” he confirmed, watching as Washington stepped back from the doorway.

George nodded towards his living room, gesturing for the caribe boy to come inside silently. Alexander followed suit, wiping his feet and shedding his coat as he entered the small apartment. 

“So Burr; the son I assume, Mister Burr is quite a king’s man-- sent this to me, seeking for my leadership of a rebellion? Does he--  _ do you _ know what this could mean for me?” George asked as he sat down on the couch. 

Alexander stayed standing but nodded slowly, hating that he would have to be the bearer of bad news and consequently a disappointment to Burr once he returned. “Yes sir,” He said obediently, avoiding the possibility of coming off as rude. 

“I’m sure he’s aware of what this implies for him too, then-- once we get a solid group, he’ll be forced to resign his position at the college,” Washington said, running a hand through his hair. “You too-- you wont be able to attend KIng’s College once you are a known rebel,” He warned, looking to Alexander.

Alex swallowed, but nodded as he took in the harsh reality of this rebellion that would start if Washington took Burr up on the offer. “I know. As much as it makes me want to shy away, I’d rather become known for standing up for something rather than being a scholar,” he admitted, earning what looked like a hint of a proud smile from the man. 

“George. Call me George. But that’s beside the point,” He said, standing once again. “If this rebellion-- no, this  _ revolution _ is to happen, we’ll need weapons. There’s no way those guards are going to go down without a fight. We need supporters too, can you help with that? Be discreet but try and recruit anyone you suspect to be up for this,” George said, pacing now as he thought. “I know a man-- I can get those weapons if you can rally the people,” He decided with a nod. The man opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped, seeing a thin man clad in only a dingy red sweatshirt standing in the hall. 

“Vous parlez de la revolution?”  **(You speak of revolution?)** He asked softly, walking into the room. “Je veux en.”  **(I want in.)**

Alexander raised a brow, looking to the french speaking man. “Oui-- Vous pouvez aider a trouver des partisans avec moi,”  **(Yeah-- you can help find supporters with me,)** He responded before George had a chance to. 

Upon Alexander’s proposal, Lafayette became instantly shy, looking to Washington out of instinct. 

“Non-- Je ne peux pas vous laisser faire cela avec vos blessures,”  **(No-- I can’t let you do that with your injuries,)** George said, intervening. “I’ll make sure he recovers before anything major begins, and we can work on his English,” He said, directing his words to Alexander. “Let Burr know that I agree, but keep this quiet. We don’t want anything happening before we’re ready.” 

Alexander gave the frenchman one last look before nodding in agreement to George. He pulled on his coat and zipped it up, hearing how the rain continued to beat against the windows harshly. “I’ll let you know in a week how much support I’ve gotten-- and make sure to check with the connection for weapons to make surer they agree to this as well. There’s no way we’ll be able to afford it, so the supplier  _ has  _ to be on board,” He stressed. 

George nodded, walking him to the door. “Fine. Make sure you aren’t being followed when you come though. Get Burr to help you with that,” He instructed, earning a silent nod from Alexander as he headed back out into the rain once again.

\--

John Andre had been scribbling down a few notes as they spoke, despite every word they said being recorded. “So…  _ Burr _ was the one who appointed Washington then? Aaron Burr, I mean. That’s so unpredictable-- but then again, that’s why he had so much success; hiding his real motives and all.” He chewed the end of his pen lightly, looking down at the person sitting anxiously in the metal chair. 

“Y-Yes, it was Aaron. He was the spark, I guess you could say. Well, not a spark, but definitely a starting point of something,” They said slowly, fidgeting as they spoke.

Andre nodded in agreement. “RIght, that french boy was the spark-- Lafayette I belive you said his name was?” The person only nodded, keeping their eyes down out of what Andre assumed to be guilt. “Carry on then-- we need as many details as you can give us.”

\--

Angelica swung her feet off of the table as the phone rang. Usually, this wouldnt mean anything to her, just another call her father would miss-- but this was  _ the _ phone. The phone only used for weapons dealing. Clearing her throat, she leaned forward, grabbing the phone with a shaky hand. She pressed the green button, holding the device up to her ear as she got ready to take note of anything she would need to tell her father. 

“Hello?” She asked, waiting for the voice on the other end. As the man began to speak, her eyes widened, frantically jotting down all that she could. “Yeah-- of course. I’ll talk to him about it and get you an answer.” She said, hanging up the phone almost as quickly as she had picked it up. 

When Angelica looked up, she was met with a wide eyed Peggy in the doorway, holding what looked to be Angelica’s own phone. “You’re not supposed to answer that,” She said in awe, her voice a harsh whisper as she crossed the room, putting the cell phone down on the desk.

With a roll of her eyes, Angelica leaned back in the chair once again. “Stop worrying Peggy, it was just another order. Besides, dad won’t be home until later tonight. Remember? He had that deal with some of the guards. He’ll see that I took over for him today and see that I’m perfectly fit to run the business,” She said, allowing herself to close her eyes with a slight smile as she spoke. 

Peggy blinked, nodding slightly. “You just forgot this in the courtyard-- I figured you’d want it,” she said, a slight undertone of bitterness evident in her voice as she turned and walked out of the room. 

As soon as she was gone, Angelica sat up again, checking her phone and breathing a sigh of relief to find that her sister hadn’t snooped, all of her previously opened applications being exactly the way they were before. Standing and crossing the room to shut the door, Angelica scrolled down to her missed calls, pressing the number she seemed to call the most and holding the phone up to her cheek as the dial tone rang.

“Angelica?” Asked a smooth voice across the phone, causing a slight smile to pull at the caramel-skinned girl’s face. 

“Who else would it be? Now I need you to do me a favor.”


End file.
